


Be Careful of the Curse that Falls on Young Lovers

by SilentFrenzy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dark!Sansa, F/M, House Stark, Songfic, anyway sansa is pissed, idk what the exclamation is for i'm just copying others
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 04:33:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13896348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentFrenzy/pseuds/SilentFrenzy
Summary: Jon returns to Winterfell with Daenerys by his side.Howl - Florence + the Machine





	Be Careful of the Curse that Falls on Young Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of a different writing style than I usually use. (: Happy reading!

_**if you could only see the beast you’ve made of me** _

Sansa’s vision blurred to the scene before her in the Great Hall of Winterfell, her pupils icing over as she was presented with the merciless strike to the face that was the silver-haired woman who shamelessly demanded her attention, her impudence affronting and unapologetic.

_**i held it in but now it seems you’ve set it running free** _

Another man of the Stark family had travelled South, the same man being the one who stood in front of her while accompanied by the jarringly out of place stranger he announced as his queen. He had returned home to the North despite what history’s misfortunes had led Sansa’s nightmares to foreshadow. He ought to have followed the pattern of his kin, as the honor of his character would have at least remained intact.

_**screaming in the dark, i howl when we’re apart** _

No, the same man  _hadn’t_  returned home to the North, and the man was not a Stark. His betrayal to her, to his loyalties, and to his people had stripped him the right to wear such a proud name, proving himself to be the bastard she had apologized for formerly seeing him as. She had apologized only to be proven foolish for ever seeing anything but, foolish for trusting him to aid her in restoring the agonizing hole that those guilty of mutilating her family had left her with. The hole that had stolen the songs from her spirit and the pink from her cheeks, butchering the very essence of her.

_**drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart** _

And he had, had made her feel whole again, had made her feel  _alive_. She had lost all memory of the comforts that came with feeling safe, but he had given her remembrance. She would never again be as innocent as the naive young girl she once was, never again be as hopeful as the eager child that had had her head stubbornly stuck in her dreams, but still he had somehow managed to coax the warmth back into her flesh and encouraged the lyrics of her abandoned melodies that she hadn’t known since she was so innocent and hopeful.

_**my fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in** _

He had gifted her an abundance of hope and had drank in her love, reveling in her acceptance of him. He had greedily welcomed how she honored him with the respect she had honored her father and her  _true_  older brother with, the older brother he wasn’t even worthy of being compared to. He had swaddled her in his care while thieving her trust, only to shatter every affectionate illusion of him,  _them_ , that he had so cruelly instilled in her.

_**you are the moon that breaks the night for which i have to howl** _

Not only had he made the choice to slaughter her happiness, but he had made the choice to come and practically  _laugh_  at her, mock her by placing his more beautiful queen in front of her face. A white, unflawed rose to please his eyes away from Sansa’s tattered petals. She was defiled, used. She couldn’t offer him what his  _unburnt_  could, for she had been burned more times than she cared to ponder, and her previously unmarred beauty now held unattractive scars that forever ruined the only tasteful quality she ever had.

_**now there’s no holding back, i’m making to attack** _

Upon their arrival, merely the body language of the foreign woman had silently, intentionally communicated that the man beside her no longer belonged to any person of Winterfell, but instead to her and her alone. Sansa could nearly  _smell_  the way the woman’s touch had soiled his skin, the skin that she had come to memorize the texture of. Abruptly, the frost that had spread over her thawed as hot, branding anger seared through her. The tempo of her breaths stuttered before halting as an overwhelming blanket of possessiveness smothered her, immobilizing her.  

_**my blood is singing with your voice, i want to pour it out** _

A resonant snarl reached her pounding ears and reflexively her eyes flashed in support of the warning noise. For the smallest of moments Sansa believed the territorial threat to be her own, as the sound had manifested her raw emotion immaculately. Her boiling fury dropped to a simmer at the aid the dire wolf by her side offered. The animal had proven to her his loyalty, the loyalty his owner had abandoned.

_**the saints can’t help me now, the ropes have been unbound** _

A small victory to be had over the stranger that had sunken her claws into what was hers, the small victory to have the beast belonging to the man the woman had stolen show her her place in his home. The wolf embodied the dominant fierceness of Sansa’s pure loathing as she was unable to properly express it fully as only a woman.  

_**i hunt for you with bloody feet across the hallowed ground** _

Mentally she sunk even further away from the Great Hall as she began to feel the phantom caresses that his careful hands left when he had touched her, when he had acted as hers. Haunted, she felt the light brush of his lips on her temple, lingering on the bone of her cheek, pressing into the inside of her wrist, anywhere he could pretend chaste as he sweetly placed his  _innocent_  kisses upon her at various times and situations. He had marked every part of her face but her mouth, which his had once found the corner of in an attempt to reach her cheek. Frozen they had both instantly been at his  _mistake_ , frozen until she had trembled once in her shameful desire for more, mourning the loss of the real kiss they had almost shared. His sigh answered her unacceptable cravings for him, for her brother. Her head had dropped as her gaze fell to her lap for many moments before he ruthlessly encouraged her temptations with the damp, open mouthed kiss to the spot between her shoulder and neck, the kiss that still tore at her sanity. He had made her starve for him.

_**like some child, possessed, the beast howls in my veins** _

She didn’t realize she had bitten into her tongue until she tasted the weeping of her wound drain down her throat, coating it as her jaw clenched and unclenched while her mind left her memories and went on to pure imagination, pure imagination of  _them_. She watched the stunning woman’s glinting, falsely coy eyes hold his as her head was yanked back by the silver hair that was tangled in his hand. The returning stare the man in her mind offered his prized lover held a sinister passion, the need for the  _other_  woman shining in his eyes as he dipped down to run his lips along her bare shoulder and nip at her neck. Sansa filled her head with screams in an attempt to shut out the ideas of his mouth sucking on and sinking his teeth into the skin of another, claiming her as his own.

_**i want to find you, tear out all of your tenderness** _

The final horrors of her imagination dissolved with aching slowness, leaving behind the picture of the victorious female nestled in his protective embrace with his body curled possessively around hers to etch itself forever into the back of Sansa’s eyes. Left breathless, her senses returned to the present, bringing along a bruising lump of hurt which lodged itself into her air passage, properly manifesting the way he practically had her neck in his fist. Did he feel the jealousy that she was green with?  _Taste_ it in the air and suck it into his lungs? Did her unreasonable envy please the sadistic nature he held towards her, a nature she formerly would have never imagined existing? Perhaps she deserved such a jest made out of her wrong, twisted attraction for a man of her blood. Ah, how Cersei would be proud of her little dove.

_**be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers** _

The questions she only shared with herself would remain unanswered as she no longer knew what to expect. The man she had believed him to be was absent and only the shell remained, the shell along with the anchor beside her with lips curled back and hackles raised. Ghost, what an appropriate name.

_**starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters** _

Managing to swallow the feral cry that battled her efforts to prevail as untroubled, she was left with the sinking realization of what she was livid with more so than the future of her kingdom. The intensity of her furious despair was disgracefully driven by much more than house loyalty, much more than a platonic love that had been betrayed. She was in love with him, miserably and corruptly wanting him in every way. Again, she found herself in love with a lie, or perhaps a  _delusion_  formed by her own stupidity would be a more accurate description.  

_**the fabric of your flesh, pure as a wedding dress** _

Such a fact was known to him, of course it was, was known to  _herself_  despite her attempts to brush aside her wicked desires and depraved fantasies. He knew and had teased her with it,  _encouraged_  her with his sincere, soul seizing gazes that were feigned as brotherly. His mere presence dominated her world, the alpha of her existence. He had a power over the most primal pieces of her, and he had relished in it before moving on as soon as he found a sweeter prize, selfishly taking the ground under Sansa’s feet along with him.

_**until i wrap myself inside your arms I cannot rest** _

She tamed her tormented thoughts as she blinked clarity back into her sight. Her expression was stony and unreadable despite the ruins that had become of her feelings, for she no longer wore her heart on her sleeve as she had as a child. She held her regal posture, her shoulders as straight as the exemplary lady she had always aimed to be. Offering others her vulnerability had only ever earned her scorn and humiliation, and she would never give any of her offenders the triumph that was held in seeing her broken again.

_**a man who’s pure of heart and says his prayers by night** _

“Sansa.”

A ringing in her ears responded to his voice, shrill and deafening. She recoiled from the instinctive desire to fall into docility at her name vocalized by the male she belonged to,  _formerly_  belonged to. Mutterings of resentment and outrage sounded around them for both him  _and_  Sansa, warning sounds indicating that she was not to acknowledge the silver-haired woman’s claim to the throne, not to agree to her  _help_  attached to many strings. A king no longer he surely knew he would be after what he had done, so why had he thought his newly claimed bitch would be successful in the North?

_**may still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright** _

The sound of his voice around her name, hoarse and pleading, served her confirmation. He knew what he was doing to her, he  _knew_  and had decided to do it anyway. He had the audacity to warp the sounds that he pushed out of his treacherous mouth into something remorseful as if begging her to understand him, as if begging her to forgive him like he wasn’t already irrevocably  _dead to her_. She pushed her shoulders back even further, sitting tall in her rightful place as a Stark as she refused to falter and offer the conquering offspring of the Mad King her pride. She would not surrender a shred of the North’s cooperation, would not disgrace her home by inadequately serving her people as the Lady of Winterfell.

_**if you could only see the beast you’ve made of me** _

She recognized what was in the eyes of the Targaryen woman as she returned her stare, having met many who had mirrored such a demeanor while knowing none that had earned the esteem they held for themselves. Dropping her eyes down the opposer’s form, her eyebrow quirked the smallest amount. The corner of her mouth twitched, threatening a smirk before she flicked her eyes back up while tilting her head ever so slightly, portraying just how much of a  _queen_  Winterfell saw the woman as. Sansa did not look his way even as he took a step in her direction, his bitch still her focus, but instead the degenerate did after tensing at his advancement towards Sansa. Very suddenly it was clear the concerns of power, queens, and houses had fallen away as the man became the greatest source of their hostility. What a fool she was to challenge Sansa’s dominance as a trespasser to the territory that belonged to her, a threat to the pack that belonged to her, and an infiltrator that thought she had any claim to the man that  _belonged to her_.

_**i held it in but now it seems you’ve set it free** _

Sansa lightly rested her hand on the wolf’s pelt and the dangerous animal slowly took a step forward, revealing the teeth that a low snarl slipped through. Loudly her name was repeated, commanding and reprimanding. She felt the blood in her veins freeze over in loathing as she was doused again with the cold truth that she had lost. The dragon whore’s chest rose with a gloating puff and her chin tilted up to cast her eyes upon her, looking down at her. Sansa almost laughed, never feeling more confident in her claim as her territorial instincts were only provoked further.

_**screaming in the dark, i howl when we’re apart** _

Finally she looked to him, confronting his gaze with the vicious determination to feel nothing for him in the same way he must feel nothing for her. As her Lord no more, his own delusions must have led him to expect her  _obedience_  at the sound of her name on his ordering lips.

_**the saints can’t help me now, the ropes have been unbound** _

Mimicking her mother, her features fell into the cold and resentful expression Catelyn had always worn for him. Sansa’s intentions were purely vindictive in her pain. Bloodthirsty, she wanted to hurt him as he had hurt her by stealing the home he finally felt he had, just as he had stolen the same from her. She would take back the sense of belonging he had always yearned for that she had given to him so warmly. She would humiliate him in front of the people of Winterfell as he had humiliated their family by bringing the unwanted queen in front of Sansa and expecting her to comply to her, to  _bow_ to her. Her voice was clear and harshly hollow as she stretched it over the Great Hall to correct him, only to realize too late that the crumbling of Jon Snow’s face and violent flinch of his body as his eyes seemed to splinter like glass did not bring her the satisfaction she had expected.

“’ _My lady’_ is what bastard half-brothers are to address me with.”

_**i hunt for you with bloody feet across the hallowed ground** _


End file.
